


Into the White

by nu_breed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam always leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the White

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/)**veronamay** is an evil enabler and wanted to see what was going on in Sam's head in the 'wishverse' of 2x20. This is for you, sweetheart.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t have to see him at all, not even once or twice every year.

This time it's so much worse. He gets too close, much closer than he has in a long time. Uncomfortably close and you can feel his breath on you, warm and heady. He smells like cheap beer and joy and it's so much easier when you're not in the same room. Easier to pretend when he's not around that you started loathing him for hooking up with Rachel and not because of what happened when he came home on prom night. When he pushed you against the wall and kissed you, one hand inside your dress pants and the other knotted in your tie and that fucking wicked mouth marking you everywhere, all the time reeking of her, making you nauseous.

He didn't tell you why he did it, why he started it and you never asked.

Dinner is horrendous. So uncomfortable that your skin feels three sizes too small for you and you can feel Jess’s hand in yours, heavy, weighing you down and when you announce your news, you can feel her pressing against you and you should be happy, but all you can focus on is the fact that Dean doesn’t look you in the eye for what feels like an hour.

You blame Dean because when he’s not around there’re no complications. Nothing getting in the way of this ordered existence you’ve managed to craft, every detail of your future mapped out; Jess, career, kids.

Dean makes everything so difficult. Makes your head spin with shit that you shouldn’t ever have to be thinking about. Stuff that makes you feel off-balance and wrong and makes you _want_.

Everything's better when you can convince yourself that you hate him. The fact is you don't. You can't. Can't hate him and can't even forget him and it doesn't matter how many times you tell Jessica you love her or how many nights you sit up, drinking bourbon and reading the same paragraph on torts over and over, he's still there, permanently wedged inside your brain.

It's like a disease, a fucking parasite eating away at you and you wish you could just tear it out, tear Dean out by the fucking roots.

The phone calls started when you first left. He'd call with some lame excuse, like asking you how hard you were finding school. He’d never shown any interest in your education before and the call would always end with drunken confessions: "Need you, Sam. Want you. Miss your mouth. Christ."

You wouldn't talk, you’d just listen to his voice; slurred and broken and dripping with temptation and broken promises, your fingernails digging into your palms and marking you. It was always too much, too raw and naked and you'd always hang up first, hard and wanting and not able to hear any more. You'd spend the next hour trying to sleep, skin prickling and heart pounding and you’d always end up in the bathroom, hand wrapped around your cock, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. You'd come in seconds flat, like you always do with him, desperately trying to think of anything but green eyes boring into you and hands that smell of oil and gasoline and feel rough and completely perfect against your skin.

Jess would always ask about it the next morning, when you were almost out the door and the response would fall from your lips like clockwork, "Just Dean. Drunk like always." She’d brush her thumb across your cheek and say, "Don’t be so hard on him, Sam. He’s lonely and he’s your brother. Who else is going to be there for him?"

Jess being so understanding about it made you sick to your stomach.

He stopped calling after Carmen and it was easier for a while. You barely talked to him, hardly ever even saw him and when you did, it was easy to convince yourself there was nothing hanging in the air between you. Besides, he seemed to really care about her and she was pretty and smart and maybe just what he needed.

Then Dad died and it was like everyone else fell away and it was just the two of you again.

Dean fucked you in your old room after the wake. Just pushed you in there and locked the door after the guests had gone and Carmen and Jess were helping Mom clean up. You didn't say no, didn't say a damn thing, you just let him touch you, his fingers all sticky with Aunt Vera's pound cake and marijuana. You thought then that doing this, screwing around while your father's body was barely cold was pretty much indicative of exactly how fucked-in-the-head you both were. No preamble, just you with your jeans around your ankles and your shirt unbuttoned and Dean pushing you face-first against the wall, pressed to those motivational posters your Mom insisted on buying you with words like 'Integrity', 'Vision' and 'Commitment'. You couldn't help but notice how worn they'd become with curled-up edges and faded platitudes as Dean dug his fingernails into your hips and pushed slowly inside you, inch by inch.

You came that day with Dean grabbing you by the hair, twisting your head back almost painfully and kissing you hard and wet, breathing, "Don’t fucking leave, Sam. You always leave. Just… not yet, okay?"

You nodded and whispered, "Okay," but you convinced Jess you needed to study and you were on the first plane out of Lawrence that night and ignored him when he called, letting it go to voicemail every time no matter how much your fingers itched to pick up.

It was better for everyone that way.

This time when he called you were ready for it. You’d steeled yourself for this and you didn't wait for his words all thick with sex and regret. You stopped him then and there, even though he sounded scared, panicked and alone and it felt like it might kill you to do it, but you just couldn't. You can't. Can't trust him, can’t open up your chest and feed your heart to him anymore because there’s nothing left of you to give him.

 

end

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Into The White Timestamp Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/760304) by [nu_breed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed)




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